


Curiosity Kills

by NoRhymeNorReason



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cat/Human Hybrids, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoRhymeNorReason/pseuds/NoRhymeNorReason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America tampers with England's magic and turns himself into half a cat. The spell isn't reversible and England ends up taking care of America until the magic wears off. Platonic relationship. Kink meme deanon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever story which I posted to FF.net ages ago and I'm re-posting it here. Please enjoy!

It's sometime in the early afternoon when he arrives at the quaint little house for a surprise visit. He's so excited to be here this spring (after slogging away the winter heaped in work, snow, and crippling hockey games with Mattie) that he barely has the vehicle in park before jumping out.

Dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a Xmen Wolverine shirt, Alfred proceeds to bound through the wrought iron gate, down the flagstone path, and up to the front door set in the cobble stone wall. He knocks with his customary rhythm of "Shave and a haircut...two bits" to let Arthur know it is him and not some salesman, paparazzi, or Russia with his usual promises of pain.

As he waits, he casually surveys his surroundings. The greenery and flowers engulf the entire residence to the point where it seems as if the very house has sprouted from the ground as well. Arthur's mini cooper (complete with offensive bumper sticker) and his luxury Jaguar (for those dignified/midlife crises moments) are idly sitting in the driveway.

After an eternity (10 seconds) of no response, Alfred begins to suspect he is being deliberately ignored. Slightly annoyed, he makes his way to the backyard.

When he and Matthew where children, Arthur used to tell them stories of fairy rings which magically transported people to mythical kingdoms. Nostalgic old man that Arthur is, it didn't take much effort for Alfred to find the spare key located at the center of a little mushroom circle.

The rear door opens into a tile floored kitchen. The house has a fairly open floor plan. Alfred can see the entire living room to his right with its mix of old and modern furniture, various souvenirs from Arthur's travels, and a good sized fireplace on the opposite wall. It's somewhat dark in here: Arthur having drawn nearly all the curtains and drapes closed.

"Hello~? Anyone home?"

There is no answer.

Alfred reluctantly closes the door but only halfway. The atmosphere of the place feels like one of those creepy horror movies where a raging madman is going to pop out with a chainsaw, and no one will be able to hear his screams. They'll find bits and pieces of him scattered in the woods twenty years from now.

Alfred frantically finds the light switch and flips it on only to discover the electricity is out too. He calls out again to the man who should be living here, trying to keep the terrified quiver out of his voice.

"A-Arthur? Artie? Did you forget to pay the bills again? You haven't fallen and broken a hip have you?"

Once again there is no response. He's about to go back outside to wait when something odd catches his eye. There is a ceramic calico cat sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. He immediately recognizes it as one of Kiku's Maneki Nekos with an upraised paw to beckon him over with promises of good luck and fortune.

Upon closer scrutiny, he discovers Arthur has clearly ruined his table. Alfred is used to the oddball chalking his symbols about the house, but this time the man had literally carved it into the beautiful wood. Alfred traces the pattern on the table with an index finger. By the look of how intricate the design is, he concludes the Brit desperately needs to get out more often and make some friends. There's no way Arthur will ever be able to sell it if he wished to now. Then again, maybe Arthur's people will like this sort of thing: an odd man for an odd country.

A dull purple glow is gathering in intensity. There shouldn't be anything glowing since the power is out. Alfred looks up to find a purple halo emanating from the Maneki Neko. With wide eyes, he watches it expand by spreading down and out along the tabletop like a living fog. When it nearly reaches Alfred's hand he quickly pulls away. The room instantly goes dark and still again.

Well that was strange.

Has Arthur been working with Kiku on some kind of new technology without him? Alfred wasn't exactly jealous, but Arthur knew how much of a nerd he was and it kind of stung to be left out of such a fun looking project. Where did the purple glow come from? There were no lights shining from above. The Maneki Neko didn't appear to be hollowed out like a lantern either. Perhaps they had discovered a new periodical element with such creepy behavioral characteristics?

Alfred reaches out to take the smiling ceramic cat off the table...

...then wakes up to a very boring view of the ceiling from his place on the floor. There's a sharp pain radiating from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. He sits up in a panic, lifts his shirt up, and is extremely relieved at what he finds. Thank God he didn't wake up in a bathtub of ice with a kidney missing!

What the hell happened? How long has he been out? Why the fuck is Arthur not here yet, or did he come home and simply leave him lying there?

A bit dazed, Alfred slowly stands up using the table to keep himself steady. It screeches sideways with the force and a very loud crash follows.

Alfred bolts from the kitchen like a bat out of hell.

~##~

"Not now," he prays to the heavens. "Not today of all the sunny, beautiful, faultless days."

Arthur -wearing his typical sweater-vest ensemble- leans his bike against the fence and frowns at the red monstrosity of a truck blocking his driveway. The windows are tinted so dark it's nearly impossible to see in; however, none of that matters as Arthur is sure the owner isn't behind the wheel.

He makes the trek to his front door and finds it still locked. A little hopeful that maybe Alfred took a walk somewhere instead, Arthur steps into the foyer. There's a staircase to his right, the closed door to the study on his left, and down the short hall is the living room.

Arthur can immediately tell something is wrong. The atmosphere inside feels electrified, as if something magically powerful had exploded. Rushing to the kitchen, he is mystified to find the back door wide open and his ceramic Meneki Neko shattered to bits upon the floor. That mystified feeling slowly descends into anger when he notices a pair of glasses resting halfway under the refrigerator.

"ALFRED!"

Where did that stupid idiot go? Arthur leaves the kitchen and steps back out into the sunshine. He is relieved to find his vegetable garden, flower beds, and well manicured shrubbery unscathed. One glance at the fairy ring a few paces off tells him everything he needs to know about how Alfred got into his house.

How? How did that damnable boy always manage to find where he hid his spare keys? This is the reason why everyone in the world thought Alfred had been given one. Honestly? Would you trust the man with your spare house key?

If you answered "yes", Arthur thinks you should seek intense psychological counseling.

A couple of trees dot the property and beyond that is mainly rolling hills of grass and farmland. Either Alfred is long gone, or he's hiding.

"I know you're out here! Stop being a coward and face your punishment like a man!"

"I'm not a coward!"

Arthur smirks as he tries to pinpoint the source of Alfred's distant -yet very close- voice.

"Up here Sherlock," Alfred says.

Arthur approaches the tallest tree and peers up through the dense leaves and branches. Alfred is perched on a branch that is nearly at the top.

"Are you off your trolley? Come down here this instant!"

"No!"

"I swear to God, Saint George, and the Queen of England that if you don't, I'll chop down this tree with you in it! You have till the count of five to move your sorry arse...One..."

"Not happenin'!"

"Three."

"You can't just skip numbers!"

"Five."

"I'm stuck!"

"What?"

"I-I can't get down," Alfred grumbles. "I'm stuck."

There is a long, disbelieving moment of silence broken by the sound of Arthur laughing.

"When you're done laughing, help me down!"

Arthur is finding it too hard to speak. "What's the magic word?"

"Please help me down damn it!"

"Shall I call the fire department?"

"Oh that's just peachy. I can tell you're itching to get my photo plastered on every tabloid from here to Waikiki. You should know there's something else that's...wrong."

Arthur stops laughing. "Are you injured up there? I think it's best to call-"

"NO! Just get up here already and you'll find out!"

It takes awhile for Arthur to make the climb. Once he's sitting with Alfred on his lofty perch, he can see why the man is so freaked out -despite the stuck in a tree part.

"Alfred, what is wrong with your eyes?"

Those blue eyes with vertical pupils narrow at him. "The better to see you with my dear," he dryly replies.

"Are those cat ears on your head?"

Large white ears flatten back in an attempt to hide themselves in Alfred's blond hair. "The better to hear you with my dear."

"And-"

"I seriously have the urge to bite you right now."

It takes a bit of effort to convince Alfred to release his death grip upon the tree. Whilst being coached down one branch at a time, Alfred tells him everything from the time he arrived, to the point he blacked out, and finally ending up in the tree with his new appearance. Safely on the ground, he immediately proceeds to unzip his jeans.

"Have you no shame?"

"You don't understand! This thing has been bothering me like mad the whole time!"

When Alfred's pants are off, Arthur can't decide which is more amusing: the 'I heart London' boxers or the slender white tail swinging idly behind him. His Xmen shirt only reinforces the hilarity of it all.

"This is all your fault," Alfred whines.

"Wrong. You shouldn't have messed with something you did not understand."

"Turn me back!"

"I wouldn't even if I could," Arthur huffs. He walks around Alfred to get a better look at the half-cat practically in tears in his yard. "Besides, it was a rather powerful new spell. I could very well kill you trying to reverse it."

"You mean I'm stuck like this forever?"

"Not forever. Maybe a few hours...days...years." Arthur is somewhat disappointed in not finding whiskers. "I'm surprised you haven't complained about how much shorter you are."

Alfred blinks at him a few times before realizing that he is indeed able to stare Arthur right at eye level now. "This is even worse! I don't want to be scrawny hobbit like you!"

Quick as lightning, Arthur grabs him by an ear and pulls.

"Ow! That hurts!"

Without another word, Arthur angrily drags him that way back into the house and slams the door.


	2. Chapter 2

The _Columbiformes columbidae_ is a notorious creature whose favorite pastimes include: 1) eating in large frantic masses, 2) crapping in large ugly masses, and 3) single-handedly annoying the hell out of one _Felis catus_ sort.

"I see you pigeon."

There it is mocking him from the other side. Every so often it pretends to peck at nonexistent food as an excuse to linger.

"You're not fooling anyone."

It jerks and cranes its neck to stare at him with alternating beady black eyes.

"Cooo cooo cooo," it says, which loosely translates as "Pfffft Hahahaha!"

A few more pigeons arrive to see what all the fuss is about.

"And what have we here? Invited friends over to join in on the fun at my expense, eh?"

Alfred is moodily sitting between the floor-to-ceiling window and the floor-to-ceiling drapes in the living room. With his legs pressed to his chest and his arms resting on his knees, he stares intently at the birds strutting around outside. His glasses are back on his face (thanks to the help of a sports band), and Arthur had cut a hole in his boxers (not his favorite London pair) to accommodate his tail.

This is a pretty rotten start to his spring vacation. Arthur had made him clean not only the mess he made but the entire kitchen, the living room, and the bathroom for good measure. Said grumpy man hasn't come out of his study for some time now.

Alfred reaches out a hand to lightly scratch at the window pane. "I'm pretty sure tiny rodents with wings taste better than anything Arthur cooks." They are so close, and he is so hungry he could probably eat a whole flock of them. He hits the windowpane hard causing the pigeons to promptly fly away. "Yeah you better be afraid!"

"Is threatening birds going to be a new hobby of yours?"

Arthur has returned from the study, and by the tone of his voice he clearly hasn't gotten over his ceramic statue. Alfred had told him repeatedly that he would replace the thing, but Arthur had repeatedly told him that wasn't the point. What the hell is the point then?

Alfred's tail -the only thing visible from the other side of the curtain- gives a few irritated twitches.

"Oh come now. You're behaving like a petulant child."

Says the one who always gets piss drunk and decides that's the perfect time to unload all his grievances. Alfred, why did you snub my prime minister? Alfred, how dare you touch my Queen! Because I love you, I won't cut off your fucking hands and feed them to the corgis! So you finally rolled out the red carpet. You must want something from me. You used to be so cute! Blah blah blah whatever man.

Alfred feels the drapes lift to allow a pair of hands to grasp him under his arms, about his chest, and then he is physically hauled away from the window. Both of them are surprised at how easily Arthur had dragged him out despite Alfred acting like a useless dead weight.

"You're a lot lighter than you were," Arthur muses.

"That better not be a fat joke," Alfred grouses back.

"Merely an observation, love." Arthur lets him drop. Instead sitting upright, Alfred lazily falls over onto his side. He hears Arthur rummaging around behind him, and he looks over his shoulder to find the man going through a box he brought from the study. "Cheer up! I've got a present for you."

Alfred's ears perk up. "Is it going to cure me?"

"Well no, but it will give me some peace of mind."

What he pulls out of the box makes a sound that strikes fear into Alfred's heart: a red collar with a large gold bell on the front.

"There is no way in hell you are going to put that thing on me!" Alfred's ears plaster to his head whilst he scrambles away into a corner. "I don't even want to know why you have it!"

"I'm not going to have you sneaking about my house without knowing exactly where you are." Arthur slowly advances on him but stops when Alfred tenses up further. "I'm in no mood to chase you. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Alfred hisses at him.

"Alright. Hard way it is then. I knew you wouldn't agree so I brought backup." Arthur reaches back into the box and triumphantly reveals his weapon of choice.

Alfred gives him a bewildering stare. He's holding a plant with several leaves and clusters of tiny white flowers. "What are you going to do with that, make some tea?"

"Since you're so severely uneducated, I'll have you know this is no ordinary plant." Arthur proceeds to vigorously rub the thing between his palms. A few leaves and petals fall off and when he stops the poor thing is battered and bruised. He doesn't do anything else after that. He just stands there and waits.

After a few moments of no one moving, Alfred is annoyed. "That's it? You honestly think you can threaten me...with a...lousy...pl-"

The scent wafting across the room hits him like a sledgehammer. It invades his nose, plays havoc on neurological brain cells, and suddenly Alfred can't remember what he's upset about. All he can seem to focus on is the plant in Arthur's hand: the white flowers have little happy faces which sing his name like a siren's song.

" _Hello Alfred,_ " chorus all the tiny little faces in unison.

"Hi~ itsie bitsie widdle flowers~!" Alfred grins.

The flower stem begins to sway and dance along with everything else in the room. " _Do you want to be happy forever Alfred?_ "

He nods dumbly. "Uh huh!"

" _Come over here and we'll tell you how._ "

~##~

Oh this is just too perfect.

Alfred had obediently came crawling over to grasp the hand holding the catnip and is now rubbing his face against both without a care in the world.

"Like I told you before boy, you'll never be able to match my superior intellect," Arthur laughs.

He goes on in this way for a good minute or two until he feels something that makes him pause mid-gloat. It's the feeling of Alfred's tongue dragging up along Arthur's fingers in his mad quest to eat the silly plant. Arthur blushes to the tips of his ears. He tries pulling away, but Alfred merely grips his hand even tighter; this time lightly nipping at Arthur's hand before eating a few leaves.

"Oi! Unhand me you dolt!"

Arthur doubles his effort to get away but to no avail.

"Mmm...don go ma precious...Ya said we be happy forevaaa...mmm," Alfred unintelligibly mumbles.

"I'm not going anywh-"

It suddenly dawns on Arthur that Alfred is too far gone to even acknowledge his existence. He could be replaced with a light pole, and Alfred wouldn't even know the difference. Why the hell is Arthur blushing like a fool and being so embarrassed about? For nothing and about nothing apparently. Well it's high time he ends all this tomfoolery. Using all the grace and skill of a professional footballer -one with a huge collection of red cards- Arthur headbutts the American.

Alfred drops like a rock.

Arthur winces and rubs his forehead. He brushes himself off, straightens his clothes, then hunches over the prone body on the floor to check the man's vital signs. He's still breathing; however, prying open an eye reveals a pupil dilated to the size of milk saucers. That's not too worrisome. He'll be back to normal in no time. Arthur collars the half-cat-idiot then heads off to the kitchen to figure out what to have for dinner.

Fifteen minutes later, Alfred is fully revived, even more miserable than before and severely testing Arthur's patience by repeatedly flicking the bell under his chin.

*bing*

Once awake, Alfred had tried everything he could to get that collar off.

*bing*

He had pulled at it until he was exhausted and blue in the face.

*bing*

He had tried prying it off by rubbing himself against every bit of furniture with a corner.

*bing*

He had been about to try using one of Arthur's kitchen knives, but Arthur had snatched it away before he could.

*bing*

You must understand that this isn't some ordinary collar. Arthur had cursed it with a very simple yet powerful spell. Any force acted upon it would be met with an equal and opposite force. Every effort Alfred makes to take it off or break it would be nullified with equal resistance and thus futile.

*bing*

It's early evening and they're back in the kitchen with Arthur frying up something in a warped frying pan (a warped cast iron skillet to be scarily exact) for dinner while Alfred waits at the table.

*bing*

"There is a saying that cats have nine lives," Arthur says sweetly over his shoulder. "I wonder if that holds true even if you're only half of one."

The ringing stops.

"I'm surprised at you really. Aren't you supposed to be the optimistic one?" Arthur fills a plate and places it before Alfred then sits opposite with his own. "You still haven't apologized for what you've done either. I have a good mind to put you out and let the dogs have you."

"What were you doing in here anyway," Alfred asks as he pokes the questionable contents upon his plate with a fork.

"None of your damn business that's what."

"Oh."

Though the new found talent of not speaking is bliss to Arthur's ears, the continuous downtrodden attitude is unnerving. In all honesty, he is very worried about what Alfred has done to himself. Is this life threatening? What if he continues to transform completely? Are cats capable of ruling the planet? Is he going to form a special relationship with Herakles? Arthur could really go for a few pints right now.

"We should take a trip to the nearby village tomorrow. Sitting about this house isn't going to do either of us much good."

"Did you already forget that I'm a freak of nature?"

Arthur waves away the concern. "You could very well be normal tomorrow; if not, it's nothing a hat and a few other things won't hide. By the way...how are you feeling? Anything off?"

Alfred gives him a sour look. "Aside from the after effects of being drugged and a massive headache? There's a damnable itch I can't seem to reach on my back."

Arthur arches an eyebrow. "You already have fleas?"

"If I do, I'll give you a vast empire of 'em. You'll be King Arthur of the Biting Fleas!"

"How nice. As the royal court jester in this new kingdom of mine, you must know it will take more than jokes to earn your keep around here."

"Earn my keep? This is supposed to be a vacation! Don't even think for one hot second that I'm going to play rodent exterminator for you."

"That's too bad. It was either that or selling you off for scientific experimentation."

Alfred's eyes widen. "You honestly don't mean that do you?"

Arthur shrugs.

Alfred studies him suspiciously for a few moments before taking his first tentative bite from his plate. "This stuff you call 'food' smells a thousand different shades of awful, but I suppose it doesn't taste too bad."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"It must be that cats are the only things that can eat your cooking without gagging."

"Why you little..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footballer: To clarify for my US readers, I'm referring to the other sport using a round ball with little pentagons and hexagons. We mostly pretend it doesn't exist after elementary school. This may change if those lovely people across the pond keep sending over hot men to entice us. Oh yes...please keep trying UK.
> 
> If I researched this correctly, domestic cats are incredibly nearsighted so Alfred keeps his glasses. I'm not touching his color vision though. I'm far too lazy to try to describe the world with limited colors: it would also make for a boring read. Another fun note. Cats lack the ability to taste sweet things.


	3. Chapter 3

In the past, whenever night set in at Arthur's house, every room became a nightmare of indistinguishable shadows. This time Alfred discovers at least one benefit to being a cat. Using what little light there is, his eyes are finding it far easier to turn the indistinguishable into something his typically scared shitless mind can handle.

That isn't a monster with tentacles waiting to drag him down into the abyss: it's just a potted fern. He should probably dig it up later just be sure it isn't harboring any communist ill will within its soiled depths.

That isn't a creepy Victorian portrait of a woman whose eyes follow you about as if it desperately wants your soul. Actually, it's still a creepy Victorian portrait of a woman whose eyes follow you about as if it desperately wants your soul!

That isn't a glowing fairy waving at him as it floats by: it's just a freakishly huge firefly.

Alfred shifts for the umpteenth time to find a more comfortable position, but comfort on this sofa is as elusive as the mountain yeti. He can feel a soreness spreading down his neck and back. Every time he manages to will his heavy eyelids closed, some kind of noise drags him firmly away from dreamland. There are a billion sounds having a shouting contest into his poor sensitive ears: the electrical buzz of the refrigerator, the faint scratches of tiny feet scurrying around somewhere, the tick of the clock in the study, the varying calls of nocturnal animals, or Arthur lightly snoring away upstairs.

How do cats ever get any sleep?

With a frustrated sigh, Alfred sits up and contemplates whether he should watch TV or satisfy his restless urge to prowl. Just when he's about to reach for the remote on the coffee table, the sound of metal scraping against metal causes his ears to turn.

TV forgotten, he slowly slides off the sofa, onto the carpeted floor, and peeks around the armrest. From this low vantage point he can see the arched entrance of the hallway but not too far down it. That's definitely where the metallic sounds are coming from though.

Alfred stealthily (as stealthily as he can go with a bell collar) crawls away from the sofa on his hands and knees and presses himself to the living room wall to peer around the corner. A few more clicks and scrapes then silence before the door handle starts to move. He quickly retreats his face back behind the wall.

Ohmygosh,ohmygosh,ohmygosh! Someone is breaking in! Oh Lord, he's too young to die!

"Calm down Alfred. You're still part man and you're definitely not a mouse. You're a hero!" Better yet, doesn't being half an animal automatically make him a superhero? Hell yeah it does! What should he call himself?

Wonder Kitty?

No, too stupid.

Catman?

Nah.

The Fantastic Feline?

Close but not quite. He'll have to think of a name later because the door is almost fully open now and a stranger is stepping in.

Ok...deep breath...be still...focus. You're a tiger...yeah...a tiger and that intruder is the prey because you have a home to protect.

Time for the superhero to earn his keep.

~##~

A man -fully dressed in dark clothing- adjusts the penlight in his mouth as he works the door lock before him.

"Peep, peep, peep."

"Shuuu. I've just about got it so keep watching my back," he whispers to the tiny bird perched on his platinum blonde head.

A twist here, a jimmy there, and finally...presto!...the lock gives. The Prussian cautiously opens the door and stands triumphantly on the threshold. Hahaha! Clearly his awesomeness has greatly surpassed even that of the bastard who lives here!

Tonight he is on a mission of the information gathering, thievery, and revenge type. If he's quick and quiet he can plunder the place and be out of here in no time. The darkness within the house is heavy, but no matter as the study is just to his left. Surveying the stairs all the way to the top landing reveals a continuation of the impenetrable gloom. At this hour Arthur should be sound asleep.

*bing*

His attention snaps back down length of the hall to find the darkness staring back at him with glowing red orbs for eyes! He tensely grips the newel post in surprise and unleashes a string of silent swear words. His little bird flies out the door.

Did Arthur get a new pet? It's far too big to be a cat. A dog then, but why hasn't it barked or moved this entire time? He has a few pieces of candy in his pocket. Perhaps he can entice the animal to stay quiet and friendly. The albino hunches down and holds out the sweets as a peace offering.

"Here boy. I've got some treats for you. You're going to be nice to awesome me, yes?"

The glowing eyes, which were somewhat low to the ground, begin to lift themselves to a fuller height. When whatever it is finally stops moving, that eerie gaze is now looking down at him.

*bing*

Holy fuck, is that a bear!? Didn't they become extinct on this island long ago?

A low rumbling growl becomes progressively louder.

The Prussian feels like a deer in headlights. Arthur has been cooking up something nasty in his spare time. He should have worried when his plans were going too well, but it's too late for retrospection. Move! He has to move!

The best thing to do would be to very slowly back away and close the door; unfortunately, no one else is there to tell him this helpful bit of information. As soon as communication between his brain and feet is restored, the man turns on his heels and dashes back outside -hoping against hope that he can make it to his car in time.

The last thing he remembers is the sound of death tolling down the hall before something crashes into him.

~##~

Something smells heavenly.

Arthur rubs the sleep from his eyes and consults the digital clock on the nightstand. Five forty-one in the morning. What in the blazes is Alfred doing up so early? Usually he and Matthew couldn't be arsed to wake up till around ten. Matthew would sleep till damn near noon if his brother didn't bother him or forget him.

Yawning, he gets up out of bed, puts on his robe and pair of slippers then ambles his way out the room. Whilst descending the stairs, he contemplates his 'to do' list for the day. A walk into town ought to help burn off Alfred's extra energy. No doubt the American has cleaned out his pantry making breakfast so a bit of grocery shopping is in order. Reaching the foyer, Arthur finds his path blocked. It takes a moment for his brain to process what he's looking at.

"Good mornin' sunshine~!" Alfred appears at the end of the hall with a spatula in hand. "I was beginning to think you became lost and confused after that last stair. I made us breakfast so hurry up before it gets cold!"

Alfred is still very much half a cat but that doesn't seem to be bothering him anymore -if grinning like a loon is anything to go by. Today's clothing of choice is an Incredible Hulk shirt. Leave it to Alfred to never pack anything even remotely decent.

"Alfred," he says calmly.

"Hummm?"

"There's a man in my hallway."

Alfred has the audacity to finally acknowledge the man lying haphazardly upon the floor. "It's Gilbert."

"Clearly."

"He's not dead."

"Most unfortunate."

"I made pancakes Artie! They're stacked so high it's like the tower of Pisa!" Alfred moves to leave.

"Stop right there!"

Alfred complies and looks at him as if he doesn't understand what the big deal is.

"What is Gilbert doing in my house?"

"Ummm...he's a gift?"

Arthur rubs the bridge of his nose with a thumb and index finger. He can feel a migraine forming already. "I don't follow. _Why_ exactly did Gilbert come here?"

Alfred shrugs. "I didn't ask. Look, I'm _very sorry_ about your statue. Really I am! It was an accident...and well...I caught Gilbert breaking in and I left him there for you as a gift. I made pancakes just in case you didn't like option one."

Arthur understands now. Little kitty Alfred has skipped the part about dragging in dead animals and has graduated right to dragging in half-dead national personifications. The Briton isn't all that angry because the Jerry obviously deserved what he got, but Alfred's actions has the potential to become problematic.

Alfred is closely regarding him with a look somewhere in between hopeful and wary.

Arthur sighs. "Come over here."

He does the opposite by taking a tentative step back. "You're going to hit me aren't you?"

"I'm not going to hit you."

The half-cat pads down the hall and stops about an arm's length away: still ready to hightail it should the situation call.

Arthur gives him a few awkward pats on the shoulder. "I suppose you are forgiven."

"Truly?"

"Yes well...it took you long enough to bloody apologize properly. Do not...I repeat... _do not_ make this a habit. I can't have you dragging in every personification you can get your paws on just because you think it'll make up for your wrongdoings. Now off you go. Finish making your breakfast and I'll be there in a few minutes. I've got a few calls to make."

Alfred leaves him but not without one last glance his way before disappearing again.

Now what to do with Gilbert?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is said that animals have a sixth sense to see spiritual beings. Alfred did indeed see a fairy, but he automatically did what he always does: deny, deny, deny!
> 
> Did you know that animals with blue eyes have the ability to reflect the light back as red? I didn't. Pure, coincidental gold that is.


	4. Chapter 4

The town locals are giving him varying degrees of odd looks. A gaggle of teenage girls nearly trip over themselves as they point and -none too quietly- laugh. An old man mutters something about too many kids being into drugs these days. A little boy -with his finger firmly lodged in his nose- does his best impression of an owl turning its head to stare as his mother drags him along.

Alfred resists the urge to childishly stick his tongue out at him in response.

See? Let it be known to all that he _can_ behave. Apparently Arthur doesn't think so, which is why he's sitting here twiddling his thumbs on a wooden bench instead of investigating all the trinkets and smells whilst Arthur shops. A few bags are already resting at his side. He suspects Arthur will load him up like a pack mule by the time he's done.

Anyway, back to the reason as to why he's getting so much attention this morning. Alfred is the only one in town dressed like a bright yellow fire hydrant with comical accessories: a long raincoat to hide his tail, the attached hood covers his ears, dark sunglasses for his eyes and a scarf over this damnable bell. Arthur had told him not to speak or smile lest the townsfolk come to his home with torches and pitchforks. Of course Alfred could have worn something less conspicuous, but the weatherman had forecasted rain today.

The locals will tell you it wasn't forecasted to arrive until much later in the evening.

Yea well, when did nature ever listen to people?

To say Alfred disliked the rain would have been accurate before his little mishap. Now he hates the rain with the force of a thousand burning suns! He even took the extra precaution of bringing an umbrella -currently open and protecting him from future forecasted rain.

Incidentally, the reason for Alfred being left here has more to do with Arthur not wanting to be associated with an embarrassment, as opposed to Alfred's potential mischief making.

Their trip this morning had gotten off to a rocky start with Alfred kicking up a loud fuss and clinging desperately to the doorframe whilst Arthur tried everything he could to pull him outside. It was quite an entertaining show for the few people already making their way into town. Failing the epic battle, Arthur had had the idea to mention ice cream...thus winning the war...again.

Alfred leans back to watch the sky and lets his mind drift with the clouds.

It's kind of funny how a nation suffering from chronic low atmospheric pressure is represented by a man prone to acute hypertension.

The albino nuisance, known as Gilbert, should be halfway to a deserted island in the Pacific by now. If he's lucky, UK security will give him a complimentary piece of peppermint candy before they strap a parachute to his backside and push him out the plane. He licks a few Gilbert-inflicted scratches on the back his hand. He wouldn't let Arthur put bandages on them because bandages are for pansies.

"You're a strange one. Not the strangest I've ever seen but strange nonetheless," says a scratchy voice.

Crap! Call Ethan Hunt! Alert James Bond! He's been found out! Did his ears give him away? Alfred reaches up to make sure his hood is still neatly in place. Yes, it is. He turns to respond to the person addressing him but no one is there.

No one is there except a white Scottish fold with tan patches and jade eyes, sitting regally on the far opposite side of the bench. It seems to be expecting something like food or acknowledgment. It is the latter expectation. "Who are you and what are you doing in my territory?"

Alfred points to himself, points to the cat, then points to himself again. He moves his lips to say something but his brain is too stunned to command a voice.

"Are you mute or do you not understand English?"

"You're actually talking to me!?" The outburst is too loud. A classy looking woman crosses the street to avoid passing too close to the lunatic."You can't be talking to me because cats don't talk! They just meow and stuff!"

The cat rolls its eyes. "That's pretty rich coming from you. My senses tell me you are a cat in every way but appearance. Oh yes and 'meow'. Is that better?"

"Very much, thank you. I'm Alfred Jones and I'm waiting for Arthur to finish his shopping because I'm either suffering a severe mental breakdown, or Arthur added something extra to my coffee." Should he seek a human doctor or a veterinarian? Hell, may as well visit both.

"My name is Commodore Cupcake. Stop laughing or I'll claw your eyes out! You'll address me as Commodore and as long as you do not give me any trouble, I'll allow you to stay. Now get off my bench."

"What is with you and Arthur? I haven't even _done_ anything! Arthur will serve my head on a silver platter if I leave this spot."

Commodore gracefully jumps off the chair. "Not my problem."

"Before you go...eerr...I go...may I ask you a few questions?"

"I'll allow you _one_ question."

Alfred takes a deep breath. "I have this friend who has a friend who lives with this guy, and this friend of a friend can't tell if the guy he's temporarily staying with is happy with him being there or not -or happy with him in general for that matter. How does this friend of a friend figure out what may be possibly going wrong with his relationship with this guy without making things horribly awkward by actually asking?"

"Strange question to ask a cat. The way I see it, humans are a lot like dogs," Commodore scoffs. "I don't even _pretend_ to understand either. I can give you some advice though. When you chance upon a bit of sun, treasure it -maybe even take a nap for a while. Do that and the rest of your problems will solve themselves." With that said, Commodore walks off and disappears into a row of hedges further down the path.

What the heck is Alfred supposed to do with that kind of advice?

~##~

The rain drums a steady beat against the windowpane tonight. A desk lamp at his bedside casts enough light to read by and not much else. Arthur flips a page of a popular work of modern fiction he hasn't been able to catch up on for a few days. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't read Shakespeare, Dickens, Doyle and porn all the time. This story is rather captivating. The antagonist has just revealed his true intentions behind his complex master plan, and it's unclear how the main female character will foil it...if she manages to foil it at all.

Halfway through a sentence he hears a soft knocking sound. He shrugs it off as the house settling.

Halfway through a paragraph the knocking becomes louder. He frowns but continues reading.

Halfway through a page and the knocking has progressed to persistent, deafening levels.

"Ar~~thur~~"

Arthur groans and doesn't hide the irritation in his voice. "What!? What is so important that I can't even get a moment alone to read in peace!?"

The bedroom door opens just enough to allow Alfred -sans glasses- to poke his head through.

"Can I sleep in your bed? I can't stand being on that sofa. Seriously dude, I think I'll end up crippled for life if I have to sleep on it for one more second!"

"You poor devil," Arthur says with mock concern. "Have you tried the floor?"

"Pahleeeeeeezzzz!?" Alfred is cautiously inching his way further into the room, using every trick in his kitty toolbox to look as sad and pathetic as possible.

Arthur sighs, "Fine but stay on your side of the bed and do not hog the covers."

Elated, Alfred dashes the rest of the way to the bed and jumps in before Arthur can even think about changing his mind. He promptly crawls over the blankets and embraces the Briton in a half hug: forehead pressed to Arthur's shoulder with one arm over his chest.

Typical. Set a boundary and the man will only cross it just to rile him up. Well Arthur isn't going to fall for it this time. He'll simply ignore the American currently violating the 'hugging time limit' rule in favor of his book.

Alfred chuckles and presses forward -forcing Arthur's upper torso to slightly twist- but Arthur reads on.

After a few heartbeats of no one moving, Alfred begins to retreat.

Arthur does a mental celebratory dance...cut short when Alfred crawls over his chest and lodges the crown of his blonde head beneath Arthur's jaw. His teeth clack together but thankfully Arthur doesn't bite his tongue. His right arm is now effectively trapped between their bodies, and he can hear the pages of his book crumpling. He takes an angry breath in and calmly puffs it out.

The cat ear tickling Arthur's nose tries to flick him away as if _he's_ the one being an annoying insect!

Counting slowly backwards from ten to keep his composure, Arthur manages to transfer his book to his left hand and shimmy his right arm free. With no clear indication that Alfred will ever move, Arthur chooses to use him as a book stand. He smooths out the badly bent pages, shuffles a bit to get Alfred's ear away from his face, and turns to the next page.

"Thanks," Alfred murmurs, "for everything really."

Well that was certainly unexpected. "All these pleases and thank yous. If I didn't know any better, I'd say your disposition is improving."

"Hahaha. My disposition is always improving!"

Arthur ruffles Alfred's hair and absentmindedly scratches behind his ear. "Shush. Go to sleep so I can pretend you're not here for a few hours."

Alfred yawns -unnecessarily loud- and immediately starts snoring.

...

...

Wait a tick.

...

...

Since when was a human snore defined as one, continuous, vibratory rumble?

"Why did you stop scratching?" The question sounds like a thinly veiled demand.

"You were actually purring!" Arthur grins.

"What? I was not!" Alfred finally turns about to glare at him: puffing up like a defensive blowfish. "Manly men _do not_ purr!"

"Manly cats do," Arthur laughs. "Exhibit A." He repeats the action of scratching around Alfred's ear and Alfred can't help himself. His eyes drift close and he happily purrs away.

When Alfred snaps out of his blissful reverie, he angrily decides he's had enough of Arthur's company. He finally retreats to his side of the bed and rolls himself into a cocoon of blankets where he eventually sulks himself to sleep.

Arthur peacefully reads five more chapters before turning off the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Commodore Cupcake is UK!cat. He is a wise feline.
> 
> Alfred demands cuddles. Do not deny him cuddles at your own risk.


	5. Chapter 5

"Captain's log, stardate 4017.03. It has been two days and two nights since I crash landed on this strange planet. While out searching for any sign of civilization I came across a fascinating creature. Though they look cute and fluffy they have an insatiable hunger which often leads to ruthless cannibalism."

"What, pray tell, are you doing now?"

In the narrow space beneath the bed, Alfred draws invisible patterns with an index finger upon the hardwood floor. "Making friends with dust bunnies."

A flash of light is quickly followed by a boom that rattles the window panes. Arthur -kneeling at the edge of the bed- gives him a mocking grin. "In other words, you're still afraid of a lil' ol' thunderstorm."

"When your lil' ol' thunderstorms start raining hailstones the size of baseballs and producing tornadoes powerful enough to obliterate towns off the face of the planet, give me a call." Alfred says forlornly.

"You just pointed out the unlikelihood of such an event, even so, hiding under my bed is a poor substitute for an underground storm shelter. Do you honestly plan on staying there until it passes?"

Alfred shrugs.

"That's what I thought." Arthur's face disappears from view followed by the rest of his body as he climbs back onto the bed.

Is Arthur seriously going to take a nap? What about lunch? Oh my gosh, he just thought of a brilliant idea. Lunch under the bed! It'll be the awesomest new trend since breakfast in bed. They'll dedicate restaurants to the theme!

Something small hits the ground, distracting Alfred from his business plan musing.

It's a hamburger...

He fucking _loves_ hamburgers!

Alfred reaches out to grab it without actually moving from his spot, but his arms are too short. He drags himself along the floor a small distance and makes a second attempt to reach.

Just a bit more...

Nearly got it...

He manages to brush the hamburger with his fingertips, but somehow it dances further away. The little minx!

Alfred launches himself across the floor like an Olympian skeleton slider and captures the little hamburger with both hands.

"Hahaha! Gotcha!"

He quickly chomps down on it before it can get away again. It chews and tastes like plastic. Arthur must have made it himself. He also must not have fully cooked it either because it's desperately trying to free itself from his jaws.

Odd. There's something attached to this hamburger.

Alfred crosses his eyes to bring the mystery object into focus. It's a string. He follows its path upwards with his eyes -having to twists onto his back to do so- and concludes the string is attached to a pole which Arthur is holding.

Arthur laughs and gives the hamburger a few more tugs.

Alfred glares at him and spits the toy out of his mouth. "You're an _evil_ man Arthur Kirkland."

"As the saying goes, there is no rest for the wicked."

"I don't see what the problem is. I was being quiet and out of your way."

"On any other given day I'd be happy to leave you to your own devices, but I need your help. I promised the National Maritime Museum a few donations from my personal collection."

"Let me guess, a thousand tiny ships trapped in a thousand glass bottles because you're an extremely boring person?"

Arthur hits him smartly with the pole.

"Ow! What the hell, man!?"

"They'll be here to pick them up around one-thirty today. Because of you, I haven't had much of a chance to find them in the attic so quit your sniveling and let's go."

Arthur's attic is everything Alfred had expected it to be: stuffy and overcrowded with boxes of things that were most likely never his to begin with. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"A few telescopes and compasses from the 18th and 19th centuries. I know I placed them all in a box here somewhere."

"You don't know where they are?" Alfred gazes around at all the blank faced boxes. "Did it never occur to you to _label_ them? Now I see why you always misplace things."

"Do shut up and start searching."

The sound of the phone ringing drifts upstairs.

"I swear I'll never get anything done! Here." Arthur gives him a black marker. "Since you're so keen on labeling, then by all means label away whilst you search. If you break anything-"

"Yea, yea, pain, suffering, death, yadda, yadda." Alfred waves Arthur off.

Once the Briton is gone Alfred kicks his plan into gear. It's not to do a damn thing. I mean come on! He doesn't even like sifting through his own things.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a tall, shabby looking cardboard box. Further investigation finds it empty and large enough for him to comfortably fit into. Perfect. Alfred climbs in and settles himself.

"Captain's log, supplemental. I have returned to my broken spaceship. Communication with NASA remains unresponsive."

Is it just his imagination or has the storm intensified?

"There's an alien lurking around here somewhere. It's unclear whether or not it wants to help me or add me as the secret ingredient to an unsavory stew. Setting phaser to stun. If I do not survive tell my brother I love him. I hid my half of the treasure in a library without books and an opera house without actors. He will know what that means."

~##~

Thanks to Alfred, Arthur had spent the better part of the night awake dealing with jabbing elbows, incomprehensible babbling, and ample amounts of drool. Maybe he should magically shrink Alfred down enough to lock him away into a cat carrier at night...or maybe twenty-four hours a day.

Just a thought.

As he climbs the stairs back up to the attic he pays no mind to the fairy flying past him in the opposite direction.

"That was your brother Marcus who called. He's wondering when you intend to come back home because of some NAFTA meeting or other. I think it would be best to tell him what has... happened..."

Alfred is nowhere to be seen.

Fantastic.

Every full proof plan has an Achilles' heel. Arthur has just discovered that if Alfred doesn't move then the bell obviously doesn't make a single sound. He had always thought Alfred didn't have the patience for such a tactic. He had underestimated the idiot.

Arthur looks under a small, antique table draped with a white sheet. Nothing.

"He~re kitty kitty kitty."

He should have paid more attention to the fairy that flew by him earlier. Wasn't she the one who always sticks to Alfred's side whenever he comes to visit? She adores the American more than anyone else simply because she loves to annoy Arthur just as much as he does. She often sits on Alfred's shoulder -like a devil conscience- trying to whisper mischief into his ear. Sometimes Arthur thinks she succeeds in getting him to do what she wants.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are~"

Did Alfred manage to stealthily sneak away downstairs somewhere? Maybe he should go check under the bed again. When Arthur brushes past a rather mangled looking box, a figure suddenly pops out of it.

"HALT ALIEN!"

Instead of a manly scream, Arthur instinctively pivots and throws a mean right hook in self-defense. It would have been a knockout punch if the other had not the good sense to move. Arthur's fist sails a few millimeters past Alfred's nose. In the act of dodging, Alfred loses his balance and -with arms flailing in a vain attempt to stay upright- both he and the box go tumbling backwards. He bumps a stack of boxes, causing the topmost ones to shift into precarious positions.

"I'm going to _MURDER_ you!" Arthur seethes.

Alfred raises his hands in surrender. Bits of packaging peanuts cling to his hair and clothing. "Hahaha! Dude! The look on your face was _priceless_!"

"The look on your face will soon be unrecognizable!"

Alfred makes a mad dash for the stairs before Arthur has a chance to nab him, leaving a trail of packaging peanuts in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boxes: Entertaining animals, children, and overgrown kids for generations.
> 
> In case you're wondering, the fairy seen here is the same as the one in chapter three. She has been keeping out of Al's sight now that he can actually see her. There may or may not be a reason for this.*shrugs* I'm seriously making this story up as I go.
> 
> Should Alfred not survive the alien attack, the whereabouts of his hidden treasure truly exist. I'll post the answer at the beginning of the next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The answer to the treasure hunt is the Haskell Library and Opera House. It's all one building purposely built on the Canadian-US border. Because most books and the stage are on the Canadian side, Haskell is often known as the only library in the US without books and the only opera house without a stage. The front door is on the US side.
> 
> This chapter is entirely from Alfred's POV.

If you asked Alfred to choose between facing down a relentless horde of zombies in one of many video games and spinning this toilet paper roll, he'd be hard pressed to abandon the roll. It travels in place with every swipe of his hand to provide a seemingly endless source of stress relief. The perforated squares of fluff coil upon the tiled floor like a mountain of worries at his feet.

Water is draining from the tub as he sits on the toilet seat cover wearing nothing more than a towel around his waist and his bell collar. Normally baths are associated with bygone days of Alfred's childhood, but showers were out on account of being traumatized by water falling from anywhere above his height. The other bathing option had been to spend the better part of his days licking himself like any normal cat would. This required an extraordinary amount of flexibility Alfred did not posses for cleaning harder to reach...lower regions.

No!

Non!

Nee!

Nein!

Nyet!

Stop fuckin' imagining that already damn it!

This carnival sideshow has been going on for far too long. Whatever miniscule amount of welcome he had when he first arrived at Arthur's doorstep must be gone by now.

Just yesterday Alfred had broken the trellis attached to the side of the house trying to climb up onto the roof. With Commodore Cupcake's advice in mind, he had taken advantage of a bout of good weather by seeking out a prime spot for sunbathing (and sheep surveillance). Of course he thought it was a crazy idea, but what did he have to lose by trying?

Oh blessed, glorious, beautiful, golden sun! He had missed it so!

In the end, the sun's rays had not solved any of his transformational problems. There was also the part where Arthur had pummeled him with a rolled up newspaper -like some kind of naughty dog- when the Briton found out about the property damage. Apparently the sun's rays can't solve relationship problems either.

This is what Alfred gets for listening to talking cats; a lesson he should have learned with the talking flowers.

Fool me twice.

He did gain a rather nice tan in the process though.

Eventually the toilet roll becomes an empty, cardboard skeleton of its former self. Alfred gathers up the whole mess of paper and shoves it all haphazardly into a small waste bin. One more thing Arthur will have a conniption over. The man must be running out of blood vessels to burst.

He then moves on to the medicine cabinet mirror above the sink to scrutinize his reflection. He turns his face to the left and to the right. He leans in close, squints, and pulls back. He opens the mirror door to investigate the backside then closes it. His cat-eared doppelgänger is frowning as if it still can't believe Alfred actually thought someone else was on the other side of the mirror playing tricks on him.

Alfred sighs and begins the process of brushing his teeth.

There comes a time in life where one must accept the possibility of genetic modifications remaining permanently attached. This must be one of those times. Ah, everyone is going to have a field day at his expense when he is finally forced to face the world like this. All his poor pants are going to suffer too. Having holes in the knees of your jeans may be fashionable, but a gaping hole in the backside isn't going to be a trend anytime soon: if ever.

The worst part of this whole ordeal is this damn bell! It's a constant nuisance no matter what Alfred does: bathing, dressing, sleeping, moving his head in any direction. There is just enough space to allow him to wedge his pinky finger underneath the band to scratch at all the itchy places.

Something amazing happens after scratching a particularly irritating spot.

~#~

The smell of dry, old books is very heavy.

This comes as no surprise as more than half the wall space in Arthur's study is dedicated to decoratively bound paper. If the curtains were drawn back, Alfred would not be surprised if he found more books instead of windows. The rectangular monotony of the room is broken with a clock here, a random bust of a dead person there, and shapely bookends everywhere. A large world map -with a collage of pinned notes and pictures- hangs on the wall opposite the entrance door. It serves as a background for the man sitting behind his office desk.

This must be the original study whence all cliché studies were born.

"Hey Arts!"

Said man, deeply concentrating on his glowing laptop screen, pauses for a second to wave an indifferent hello without looking up. His fingers resume their key tapping as if they long for a feathered quill and ink bottle.

"Ya look like you could use some company."

"I look like I'm busy," Arthur replies with his usual recommended serving contempt.

Alfred saunters over to the desks in his Ghostbusters shirt and boxer combination, slides a pencil holder aside and settles down. His tail idly sweeps back and forth over the desktop, making a mess of a neatly stacked pile of important looking papers. "I've been here for about three weeks now."

"Yes, you've made yourself quite at home if your preference for ignoring perfectly good chairs, and your increasing expenses, are anything to go by. Kindly refrain from marking my furniture as your territory if you do not wish to be castrated."

"A joke which isn't funny on any level!"

"I concur."

"In all seriousness, I need to talk to you."

"You think investigating whether or not the moon is really made of cheese to be a serious matter. Can it not wait until I've finished this grown up work?"

Alfred bristles at both implications. He takes hold of Arthur's laptop, drags it over, and purposely plants his ass on the keyboard. Whatever Arthur was typing terminates in gibberish.

Arthur finally looks up at Alfred with a scathing remark on his lips. It dies instantly when he realizes what is missing from Alfred's appearance.

"Where is your bell!?"

Alfred grins like the Cheshire Cat in Wonderland. "Oh? You mean this?" He holds up the red collar and shakes it triumphantly in Arthur's face.

Astounded, Arthur snatches it away from him to make a closer inspection. The collar has come undone but not by the buckle which remains clasped. "How did you-?" A jagged line of singed leather breaks the strap closer to the bell. "It was your wretched fairy wasn't it!?"

"My fairy? Are you on drugs?"

"I am not!"

"I should be getting home."

Arthur's reaction to this next wave of breaking news is wide-eyed disbelief. "You can't be serious. What about your appearance? How are you going to get anything done if you're too busy chasing after butterflies."

Alfred laughs. "No worries! I'm an adaptable kinda guy! Besides, our NAFTA summit is next week and I have to be there -no ifs, ands, or buts. Trade disputes wait for no one."

"No. I suppose not."

Is that disappointment laced between the spaces of Arthur's words? For some reason it quickly whittles away at all of Alfred's excitement. His smile falters for a brief moment before he plasters it on again. "I'm booking a flight for Friday morning which means you have all of today to enjoy my awesome company!"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Oh joyous tidings."

"I'll use the weekend to overcome some serious jet lag before it's all business in San Antonio, Texas on Monday. Till then we should totally do some sightseeing, then lunch, then more sightseeing, then dinner and a movie! What do ya say?"

"I say, get your arse off my laptop."

Now Arthur is back to good ol' Mr. Grumpy Cactus.

Alfred scoots off the desk and pushes the laptop, pencil holder, and important papers back into their proper places. When he's done he stands there waiting expectantly for the other to agree with his itinerary.

Arthur hits the backspace key with a little too much force. "As long as I don't have to pay," he grumbles.

"Alright then! You check up on movie times for anything of interest and I'll go make a dinner reservation to this restaurant I spotted in town!"

Once Alfred quits the study to tackle all his plans in earnest, a headache begins. At first he ignores it, but it steadily gets worse until he has to sit get some relief, he covers his ears to keep the sounds from echoing within his skull.

Maybe there is something else wrong with him.

A glass of water and a few aspirin ought to solve the headache problem.

~##~

Something else is definitely wrong with him.

Did he catch a virus of some sort? It would explain why Alfred feels so exhausted. It's like he has just run a hundred miles wearing cement shoes when he has only walked a short distance in his socks.

However, a virus does not explain why he can suddenly see the kitchen sink straight through his hand. A virus also does nothing to explain the unsettling image of watching his cat-eared doppelgänger walk away from him with the solid form he used to possess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter still annoy me, but I figured at this point in time it's best to leave this be.
> 
> If the mental image of Alfred licking his vital regions like a cat is burned into your imagination, my work here is complete. I regret nothing!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The POV is all Arthur this time.

"He wants to leave!"

"I told you, there is nothing I can do about it."

The only fairy which doesn't flee at Alfred's presence, persistently tugs at a lock of his hair. She'll make him bald if Alfred doesn't stress all his hair out first. Arthur closes his laptop and rubs the strain out of his eyes. It seems he isn't going to get any work done today.

"He can't go home!"

He should be elated by the news of Alfred's departure. Why isn't he elated? The American is rude, gluttonous, destructive, boisterous, horribly overprotective, and..."I know you'll miss him my dear, but do not stress yourself over it. He'll eventually come back: like a flu virus."

"You don't understand. I didn't take his collar off!"

Arthur pauses in the midst of putting all his things away. "Alfred took it off himself?"

"No! It was the spirit coexisting within Alfred's body. It has bound itself to him. When Alfred decided he should go home, I didn't think it would actually do something to force him to stay!"

Do something!?

Arthur is up out of his chair and dashing down the hallway before he can think to ask exactly what had been done. There is a possibility the fairy may be telling lies; however, the déjà vu of finding the living room empty, the kitchen empty, and the tap water running, quells that suspicion. Once outside, he spots Alfred digging up handfuls of soil from the center of the mushroom fairy ring where the house key had been. Arthur can tell from the man's strange aura that it isn't really Alfred.

So much for hoping the spirit would peacefully leave of it own accord.

"You can not go back this way," Arthur says as he kneels down to the spirit's level. "This portal is not your home to return to."

The spirit shifts its focus up and away from destroying Arthur's lawn. Alfred's cat eyes are a new shade of gold.

Arthur tentatively places a hand on either side of the man's face, caressing his thumbs over Alfred's cheeks. "I'll set everything right." He's not sure who he's trying to sooth and assure by doing this: the spirit or himself. "First you are going to have to give Alfred back to me. Please."

Those gold eyes lazily blink at him before slowly drifting shut. It's not clear if the spirit understand him or not, but the subsequent purring is a good sign.

When Alfred's eyes open again, one is blue and the other still gold. Arthur can practically see the cogs turning in his brain as he takes a moment to process who's in front of him and where he is.

"Arthur, I have the awesomest teleportation powers! It could possibly be time traveling powers. I was in the kitchen -to get a drink of water and nurse this massive headache- when suddenly I was two people! The other me walked out the back door as cool as a cucumber. Until now I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I couldn't hear, and it felt like every living thing had disappeared off the face of the planet...or...or maybe I'm a zombie? Shit! I'm dead and my zombie body is terrorizing British neighborhoods! Arthur, I give you permission to blow my freakin' zombie head off before I eat some poor soul's intestines like Italy does with pasta! Wait. You're not running away from me. Does that mean you're a zombie too? Whaaaa! I'm so sorry I made you a zombie Arthur!"

Arthur pinches Alfred's cheeks and pulls: distorting his face into something more suitable for a clown. When Arthur lets go, his face snaps back into place like a rubber band.

"Dude! What the hell is with you and violence!?"

"I'm verifying that you are neither dead nor a zombie. You don't have teleportation or time traveling powers either." Arthur stands, helps the other get to his feet, and proceeds to brush off the bits of garden he doesn't want tracked into his house. Alfred is clearly torn between being happy about not being a zombie and disappointed with not having superhero powers. Arthur sighs. "I suppose it's time I give you some explanations."

~#~

"Sooooo you were lonely and wanted a pet cat? Why didn't you just adopt one like sane people do?"

"I wasn't lonely and I didn't want an ordinary cat either!" Arthur protests as he places a floral patterned cup of tea on the kitchen table in front of Alfred. No surprise, Alfred is having a hard time understanding what's going on no matter how many times Arthur tries to simplify this for him. "A cat spirit had been terrorizing my garden gnomes. I had finally succeeded in capturing the pesky thing by trapping it within the maneki neko statue."

Alfred scrunches up his nose at the cup of not-coffee, not-soda, and definitely not-water. "Oh! You mean like The Smurfs? Are Smurfs gnomes? That means the cat spirit is Azrael. Are you confusing TV shows with reality Arthur?"

"I've changed my mind. I'm going to put you out of your misery instead. It would be the most humane thing to do," Arthur deadpans. "I intended to give the cat spirit a physical body and keep it by my side as a harmless familiar; however, entities are opportunistic. Why remain trapped in a statue when an idiot sets it free and offers himself up so willingly? Your new appearance is a sign of being possessed."

"Ok. Let's say I believe all this hocus pocus mumbo jumbo. Don't glare at me like that. It doesn't explain why I can't go home."

"The problem is, if you want to stop any spirit or magical creature from causing havoc you have to bind it, and to bind it you have to sacrifice a part of yourself as a price. This thing is bound to you and has some level of power. Since you're the weaker party in the magical hierarchy, it can pretty much do whatever it wants and you can't stop it. Apparently this cat spirit does not want to leave so neither will you."

"How are you going to change me back?"

" _If_ I can change you back. I wasn't exaggerating when I told you it would be dangerous to try. Spirits and souls are not glowing orbs of energy one can simply force apart. They are free flowing forms which tend to weave together in intricate patterns and knots. A powerful sorcerer (such as myself) can undo the binding, but there is always a risk to your life."

Alfred frowns. "I have a fifty-fifty chance of success then."

"Less depending on just how strongly you're bound. You can either take the risk or stay here until the cows come home. It is your choice in the end, but we both know your answer so drink up."

Alfred swirls the contents of his cup, causing the liquid to nearly slosh over the edge. "Something is floating around in here."

"They're just tea leaves."

"I _know_ what tea leaves look like and these look _nothin_ ' like tea leaves."

Truth be told, the tea was brewed with all sorts of things Alfred would find disagreeable. He should be thankful it had not been made using eye of newt -which is surprising considering it is a requirement in most potions for some reason. "Just drink the damn tea."

Alfred pinches his nose and gulps down the tepid drink as fast as he can in an attempt not to taste anything.

Arthur takes the delicate cup away from him and places it on the counter out of harms way. "Now I need you to climb up onto the table."

Alfred looks at him as if he's been replaced by an extraterrestrial lifeform and the real Arthur is helplessly cocooned somewhere up in the attic. "Were you not just scolding me two seconds ago about sitting on chairs?"

"We must always make exceptions to the rules." Arthur ushers Alfred up from his seat. "Move yourself directly over to the center. Keep your body within the confines of the engraved symbol below you."

Alfred does as he is told: criss-crossing his legs, keeping his arms close to his body, and wrapping his tail around torso. "Like this?"

"Yes. Very good. Enjoy your cat nap Alfred."

"But I'm not sleepy." Cue a sharp toothed yawn. "Even if I was-" He slowly nods off but instantly startles himself awake. "-that is _the worst_ joke," he says in a voice rapidly approaching a whisper, "in the history of terrible jokes."

If Alfred has anything more to say, only his dreams will hear it. That drink was strong enough to take down a full grown elephant. Hopefully he'll remain perfectly still and silent for as long as this spell may take. Arthur leans forward to place his right hand on Alfred's chest and says a spell with the force of his will behind it.

"Be like the grave, for only death can tear the strongest bonds asunder."

Alfred takes a deep breath and holds it. Shortly after, a purple mist begins to seep out of his chest like an open wound beneath Arthur's palm. It spills onto the table and slowly molds itself into the recognizable shape of a cat. Opaque splotches of white fur bloom and spread over its transparent body and gold eyes fill in empty sockets. The closer the cat gets to a solid form, the closer Alfred visibly gets to being his normal self.

Once Alfred's animal ears and tail are gone, the cat spirit begins to flicker in and out of existence like a broken light bulb before completely vanishing.

Nothing else happens.

Arthur looks on in confusion when Alfred does not start breathing again and his pulse becomes considerably weaker. It's too soon for Alfred to quit the world from lack of oxygen. It must mean the cat spirit cannot -or will not- let Alfred's soul go and is dragging him away with it.

Not on Arthur's watch it won't!

"Alfred!" Arthur shouts whilst shaking the man roughly by his shoulders."You sorry, pathetic excuse for a man, **fight back!** "

The engraved symbol below ignites with a green flame. It doesn't burn, but Arthur is caught off guard enough to step back as it flares with a phantom intensity. When it snuffs out, Alfred opens his eyes and takes in a desperate breath of air. After his gasping and coughing fit subsides, he immediately places his hands on his head and sighs in relief to find the absence of cat ears.

"Welcome back," Arthur says as he pulls a kitchen chair over and slumps into it. These types of spells always leave him exhausted.

"I am not pathetic," Alfred replies with a pout.

"Your knack for completely disregarding everyone's hard work, and the danger you were in, to focus on your hurt pride is astounding. I do believe a 'thank you' is in order."

"Thank you," Alfred says as he eases himself off the table and stretches his limbs. His eyes scan the kitchen in search of something. "I don't see the magical cat you were talking about. Will you have to chase it down again?"

Arthur's garden gnomes aren't going to be too happy to hear the news. It took nearly a month to capture that silly cat and he's not looking forward to the renewed effort.

"May as well not stress myself over it. It'll eventually come back: like a flu virus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. That's the end of my first story! It turned a bit serious at the end, and was kind of abrupt, but I hope it entertained you in some way.


End file.
